Faithful Dis-Believer
by Ser.REnity
Summary: So what if they begged their reflection for absolution. He was a god, was he not?


**Connected to The Darkest Place, Rising Tide and Fallen Empires, **** Little Lion Man, and ****In Obscurity they whisper.**

**Number four in the series.**

* * *

**Faithful Dis-Believer**

When the time comes, they abandon faith and call upon him, the creator of chaos and fire and evil, to help them. They all will. In the face of the deepest of abysses, even the atheists turn into aficionados of his particular religion; this most glorious, truest of beliefs.

Loki does not mock their demands; he is a god to answer the prayers offered to him.

They face a mirror, pray to him and he appears as their reflection; they fret in their last of minutes or hour of shame; but he has not expected all six of his former enemies to indulge to this sin of blasphemy.

* * *

The god called first.

The soldier.

The archer.

The man of iron.

The beast.

The assassin.

They looked in the mirror and cried his name only once.

**I. Thor Odinson**

As a part of the world they all belonged to, he was naturally the first to think of his name and ask for help.

His prayer was silent and well-phrased and as selfish as he managed it to be.

Thor wanted Loki to come back and be his brother once more; the big oaf could not live without the advice of his sibling, it seemed. But he was not concerned about Loki's state or emotions; he cared only for his clean and perfect picture of a family, desperate to keep up a facade that had shattered long ago.

The mighty god of thunder cried facing the mirror, staining his _perfect _face, running a hand through his _perfect_ hair... to lose everything he had ever held dear.

He said he had lost his brother twice already and a third time would kill him.

Loki appeared in the reflection only reluctantly. He knew what words awaited him and he endured them one by one, every last plea and threat. When Thor finished, it was his turn to talk.

"What is it you called me for?"

"You are greatly missed", Thor whined and pressed his hand against the mirror's surface, "Come back home, Loki."

In a different time, these words may have meant something.

"It was your people that sent me to Hel. And it is a place most appropriate for a god such as me", Loki replied calmly and looked down upon his loyal follower without much interest, "Formulate your demand, god of thunder. I shall see if I can grant you a wish, should it not exceed my powers."

Thor shook his head violently and grabbed the mirror as though he wanted to rip the image right out of it back into his life. He opened his mouth and closed it again, seemingly irritated and at a loss for words.

"Any personal affairs I had before do not matter any longer, god of thunder. All bridges are burned", Loki explained devoid of emotion and watched the proud god before him disassemble into a crying and shuddering mess.

_Down on the floor with the ruthless blaspheme, off with their heads and in the fire you kick their flesh... until they burned, burned, burned away all the thoughts of other gods._

**II. Steven Rogers**

It should have taken him longer to break, him as the leader, the faithful one among all the heroes and saints; he should have been the one to stay strong, as a role model for every blood-lusting human to follow.

Instead he closely followed Thor's example and faced a mirror he could not spare for anyone else. His prayer was silent and reassuring, not meant for anyone else's ears. Anyone else; as Loki was.

Rogers did not cry before the reflection that suddenly was not his own anymore, his expression was stern and serious, never even wavering. Such a never-ending conviction; it was fascinating to watch his naivety.

But Loki had not come to gloat and make fun of those who asked for his assistance and his only. Even in the older times it had only been a few followers who dared to speak his name, fearing his temper would burn their last of dreams.

"What is it you called me for, Captain?"

Rogers looked up at him with piercing blue eyes and yet Loki did not stand accused; he had served his sentence and endured the fire of Hel, they could no longer expect him to feel as if he owed them a favor.

"So it is true. They caged you in the underworld and make you serve every lost of us who dares to speak your name out loud", Rogers said and shook his head, "I don't like the sound of it. I don't like it at all."

Loki eyed him with disinterest.

"I do not care for your struggle with unwanted guilt. Ask what you called me for."

The mortal looked away and all off a sudden he did not seem to mind the specific sort of punishment anymore; it was in his interest to see Loki offer his support of his own free will. There was no will to refuse anymore.

"I want you to turn back time. Only for me and only for a day", Rogers said and looked away.

Loki nodded slowly.

"What time is it you want to travel to?", he asked.

"I had a date that day seventy years ago."

_Oh, how delightfully sinful their screams would be, screams of pleasure in pain as they melted, melted, melted in the sun._

**III. Clinton Francis Barton**

His approach was as shameful as it should be under the circumstances they had last met in. And yet it did not matter; as a person forced to pray to a fallen god he had lost everything already, there was no need to push him any closer to the edge if he had jumped already.

His prayer was short and awkward, more of a whisper in pain than a real speech. His problems were closer to the heart, closer to him in a chronological way; at first he was reluctant to even admit it; he stuttered and rubbed his temples and swore and paced around the room for another ten minutes before he actually forced the god's name on his lips.

Barton sounded strained and jumped as Loki appeared.

"Fuck!", he exclaimed and stumbled backwards, falling over, "Fuck this!" He repeated this mantra of his favourite word in all the nine realms, until he hit his head against the bedpost accidentally.

"What is it you called me for?", Loki asked calmly and watched Barton crumble to pieces and never get up again, it seemed.

"_You sick fuck_, what the fuck do you think you're doing in my room?", the archer growled angrily and yet his posture indicated he had already accepted the presence of the man he hated most for reasons he could not name anymore. They would kill him just as well.

"You stand corrected: My present location does not happen to be your quarters. Time is short, however, speak your wish and let us part ways once more."

Barton snorted at Loki's answer, but as he ran his hand through his hair and looked away, down, down on the ground, just to keep the stare away from the one he had just sold his soul to; far away from every other significant place or thing or living form.

But he kept quiet nonetheless; embarrassed, shameful, _wanting_, _needing_.

"What will it be, Barton? Her body? Her heart?", Loki asked and his smile did not twist into the wicked grimace of humiliation this time. He could not disappoint his followers, even if he wanted to.

Barton looked up.

"Make me what she wants."

"All of it?", Loki asked.

"All of it."

_And how brilliantly the flames enlightened the halls of the gods even for them; as they were burned, as they were lynched, as they were killed in a reign of fire._

**IV. Anthony Edward Stark**

And again, the self-proclaimed genius among the mortals managed to surprise even him, the ancient, unrelenting god. It was an unspoken truth Loki preferred the man of iron to the rest of the team; where the others showed only idiocy, the inventor was a mind dedicated to progress and selfish want. Loki could relate to what he was; but again, that had been ages ago. Before the trial. Before the punishment. Before his obligation to the ones in despair.

His prayer was directed to Loki and it was the first to openly imply the demand itself. And against all better judgment it was not meant for himself.

But all personal opinion did not matter this time, Loki could not play favorites for any of them; they would not let him, the gods of Asgard and the demons of Hel.

The surface of the mirror flickered before he appeared and Stark did not seem surprised in the least.

"What is it you called me for?"

And Stark started laughing in an obnoxious, barking tone and he did not stop until the sun went down another millions of moments later.

"This is your punishment, right? _Right_? Tell me they made you do this", he asked, malice shining in his eyes and something, just something else. Then he started laughing again, but it was no mocking laughter at all.

"I do what I want, man of iron. Now construct your wish."

Loki did not show emotion to any of them and he could not. He was a god now, free of judgment and limits. A dead deity, though.

Stark pressed his hands to his temples and shook his head.

"This can't be happening. You of all people could not have... gotten over it that easily."

He laughed again, short and harsh.

"You were supposed to be like me."

Loki watched the genius mortal fall and yet it did not matter. Others, better than him and better than all of them combined, had fallen before. And even better people _would_ fall because of their ignorance.

"Your demand", Loki reminded him casually.

Stark began chuckling maniacally, until his eyes watered. Not tears, never tears, _why tears_?

"Make me forget. Him. And them", he whispered then, still choking on his own rushes of laughter.

_And the flames got brighter with every selfish reason and selfish motive and selfish pain. How high they grew. How hungry they were. And how dead the eyes, the puppet's eyes so full of nothing, nothing at all._

**V. Dr. Robert Bruce Banner**

It was the man, not the beast, who decided to fall from grace by his own free will. And he did it good, as the first and the last to twist his words until the shame was hidden from the world, until the disappointment in himself was nothing more than a mere reminder of times prior and times never to come.

His words were carefully chosen and calmly spoken; no tension, no fear, no _anger_.

And so it would seem to be the most pleasant of visits, the most gentle of approaches; and the easiest wish to fulfill.

Except it wasn't.

Loki appeared with a tiny smile on his face, more like a nervous switch stuck to his features; a small reward, a tiny acknowledgment.

"What is it you called me for?"

Banner smiled awkwardly and waved at his mirror once in a stiff and controlled motion.

"Tony told me this would be working, but I never actually believed it. But you are here after all, I guess."

He got up from the chair he had been sitting on and walked closer to the mirror.  
"They stretched the time for you, I heard, until you were forced to do this for all eternity while no one around you aged", he said quietly and clasped his hands, "Will they let you go, ever?"

Loki did not move a muscle.

"I am dead, mortal monster. I have no place to go."

Banner smiled and shrugged.

"That means nothing to you people, right?"

"Make your demand", Loki replied and a memory stirred inside him, disappearing only a second later.

Banner swallowed and turned his gaze away from the mirror.  
A second to evaluate his darkest desires, so very reasonable and yet disgusting to reveal.

Not obscene, not embarrassing, but true and raw.

"I want you to make me disappear, so that the other guy is all there is."

"Your memories?"

"I want nothing of it. Nothing at all."

_And the abominations were hung from the gallows pole, deformed, displaced, improved. They hurt and so did he, all off a sudden. He burned with them as the sun went down behind the hills._

**VI. Natasha Romanoff**

Of course she would be the last to give in, the last to indulge and yet the first to ponder the decision. Many times she had stood before the mirror, his name on her lips and her prayer phrased and decided; the pad of paper just before her eyes.

But she had always hesitated and stopped herself from even trying. As the professional she was, she would wait for the others to prove what she had been told before putting her own life or soul or everything on the line.

And as she finally did, her plea was short and full of sentiment; so many people had failed her and yet she put the last of her trust in him, her least favourite.

Loki appeared before her eyes even before she finished with her prayer; the last words she spoke to his face. But the Black Widow did not stop; the confession was ripped off her chest like a Mayan sacrifice.

"What is it you called me for?", Loki asked, the first and last time.

She stretched out her hand and pressed it against the mirror, not caring about the stain it would leave. Her smile was cruel.

"And again you are on the other side of the glass... and again I feel as though you deserve every minute of it."

"My fate was not yours to decide", Loki replied and his reaction obviously confused her, "Ask."

The Black Widow was at a loss for words and stared at him; the white blank page he was scared her apparently; to the bone, to the bone, an arrow to the pumping, dying heart.

She crossed her arms and lifted up her chin in protest, an attempt to retrieve her dignity.

"_Kill the Black Widow!_", Natasha Romanoff screamed at him a second later.

_And the last of their stories would be kept until the end of time; as martyrs, chosen by fate and the justice or whoever decided to be in charge of whatever mattered. Oh, how incredibly rightfully they claimed their reward for... what exactly?_

* * *

And now the son is disgraced; he who knew his father but cursed his name.

"I have served my punishment, endured all sufferings of others and granted their wishes on the cost of my power and will", he says and it is the one wish on his mind as he faces the worst of traitors once more.

Loki stains the court's floors with his pathetic tears of childish need.

How wrong, how false, how incorrect he is, kneeling before them and mewling for his last of dreams.

"Can I come home?"


End file.
